


An Accident

by DakotaTheWhale



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux, Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: Andrew Lloyd Webber - Freeform, Erik - Freeform, Kerik, Phantom - Freeform, Phantom of the Opera - Freeform, Susan Kay, merik - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2020-03-02 08:44:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18807709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DakotaTheWhale/pseuds/DakotaTheWhale
Summary: What if the first unmasking went a little.. differently?(Huge thanks to @221btardisnimbus200 for helping me with writing and editing this beast of a one shot. <3)





	An Accident

 

Everything around her was a pitch black. From somewhere out in the expanding darkness, she heard a man’s voice. Calling to her...  _ Beckoning _ her to follow it farther downward into some inky murk below the darkness. The voice seemed to surround her, mellow her senses and cast away all her fears. All she had to do was reach into the nothingness and trust an angel’s warm and comforting hand to encompass her own. As she reached out to submit to the voice’s command, her gesture was interrupted by a chiming notes of some simple melody, wrenching her mind from its blissful illusion.   
  


Christine jolted upright in the magnificent swan bed, cradled by dozens of soft, silky blankets. She rubbed her eyes, unaccustomed to the sparkling glow of candles that contrasted so much from her dream.   
  
Taking in her surroundings, she now realized where she resided. Not her pale pink dressing room, but the catacombs of some hellish prison. Had it not been for the music blossoming from some far off instrument, she would have been convinced she was locked away in the pits of the underworld for an untold sin.  
  
Not far from her bed was a rippling lake with rolls of mist circling above its surface. She remembered crossing that very lake in a beautiful boat and being guided by... A shadow... Of course, her Angel! She could not possibly have been imprisoned in hell, she was in the very core of heaven with her Angel of Music!  
  


She let her ears guide her to where the rich measures of music had been bellowing out. The music made the gilded room pulse with life and vibrancy that penetrated her very being. From across the room, her angel sat against a great sculpted organ that could rival any cathedral’s. His hands were moving across the keys with such grace and flow and his entire body pulsated and moved with the music he created.   
  


Some ancient sense of curiosity urged her to move closer. This unorthodox Angel of hers wore a mask; a gorgeous, sculpted, white mask which resembled shining quartz. Why would this holy entity ever need to hide his face? Perhaps he was too holy and the pure sight of his visage would blind any mortal?   
  
Surely her Angel would never hurt her just by the sight of his face.   
  


Slowly, cautiously, she crept behind the seat of the great instrument, just finger lengths away from the being who had saved her soul when her father had passed. She wished to look upon her angel’s, her  _ savior’s, _ face. Christine identified how his body swayed with the music, how his soul seemed to propel every move and gesture across the keys. The window of opportunity was closing rapidly; she had not a moment to lose. Soon enough, he would notice her presence and she wasn’t sure she would have this chance again.

 

With a swift movement, just as his head and chest leaned backwards and into her reach, she snatched the mask from his face. It all happened so fast. Instead of being met with the dazzling features of God’s own angels, she looked upon a canvas of twisted flesh and a gaping hole where a nose should have resided. 

 

A scream of pure agony pierced the air, followed by his entire body turning to face Christine, his mask in her delicate hands. Seething yellow eyes in darkened sockets were focused on her, and her alone. He leaped to his feet, his skeletal frame towering over hers by almost a foot, making her literally stand in his shadow. 

 

Intimidated by his aggressively looming presence, she fled. Her angel gave chase, spitting numerous curses and snarling like a wild animal. 

 

“Damn you!” he screamed, his voice echoing madly off the walls.   
  


She found herself blocked by the massive portcullis which spanned her Angel’s lair. She had the briefest moment to turn around before being slammed against the iron bars.

  
“Is this what you wanted to see?” Her entire body froze at the full sight of his hideous face. 

  
Rather than a solemn stone angel, he was no more than a terrifying gargoyle. The truth of the situation was just as suffocating, if not more, than the hands slowly clasping around her thin neck. 

  
There was no Angel of Music after all; only a man… A vicious, horrific man.

 

“So the truth has been revealed!” he hissed, “I am no angel, you see! No-- I am only Erik!” His voice went from bitter anger to sorrowful disappointment as he spoke. His hands began to tighten while Christine’s heart began to race.    


“Your curiosity betrays you, my Christine… You wished to see what I looked like... Well then, my Christine,  _ feast your eyes! _ ” He moved his grotesque face closer to her own as she whimpered in fear. “Has your gluttonous mind seen enough yet? Well I suppose it would be an appropriate time to tell you that since you seen my face, you can never leave me!” 

 

Christine dropped the mask from her hands, desperately trying to free herself from Erik’s grasp. She could hear her pulse inside her skull and felt her throat become more and more constricted. In sheer self-preservation, she fiercely tried to claw away his hands in hopes to draw one more breath.   
  


“I’m- I’m… sorry... P-Please...” she choked out, trying to appeal to the monster who stood before her. 

 

“Your apologies fall upon deaf ears, Christine.” he growled, “Your attempt to appease me into freeing you is futile. Do you hear me?  _ Futile! _ ”

 

Her pleas became less and less prominent as the breath was slowly sucked out of her body. All the while Erik’s grip still tightened and her neck muscles cried out in pain.

 

“You’re no different than the rest of them. They all want to see under the mask. They all wanted to see the ‘Devil’s Child.’ Well, didn’t you know?  _ Now you can never leave!” _

_  
_ In his anger, Erik constricted his grip still tighter, recoiled, and pushed her forcefully against the bars. A sickening _‘snap’_ rang out on the impact, silencing both of them.

Erik’s fury screeched to a halt, letting go of the girl’s neck. She collapsed to the floor with a thud, her neck laid at an odd and unnatural angle and eyes still wide open in fear, as if she was frozen in time. 

 

The red haze of anger that distorted his senses faded, now looking down at Christine like how a child reminisces a broken toy. The air around him felt heavy, realizing what he just done. 

 

He had killed  _ his _ Angel. 

 

Erik stumbled backwards, away from the corpse, not noticing the candelabra resting upon the floor. His body fell backwards and faced a mirror he knew all too well: The very mirror he’d displayed the beautiful wedding dress that his Christine would wear on their wedding day. He stared into his reflection in the cracked glass and the dead Christine also in view. With a cry of rage, he toppled the mirror, shattering the glass. Broken shards of glass strewn around the base surrounded him, forcing him to see his reflection in the scattered pieces like demented reflections of his cumulative sins.   


Using his hands to shakily push himself to his feet, not bothering to avoid the dozens of tiny glass shards embedding themselves into his palms, he approached Christine’s body, which now looked as lifeless as the doll that was in the mirror. 

 

Falling to his knees with tears streaming down his withered cheeks, he cradled her body, burying his face into her almond colored hair that still smelled like her previously living counterpart. “Oh, Christine…” 

 

_ “It was an accident...” _

 

_ “It was all an accident...” _


End file.
